The Griffin and the Chimera
by joudama
Summary: One was divine, chosen of the gods; one was an abomination, made not by the hands of gods. Written for areyougame on insanejournal. Prompt, Wings, It was the first time he saw them.


**Title:** The Griffin and the Chimera**  
Author: **joudama**  
Fandom:** Final Fantasy VII: Crisis Core**  
Rating: **work-safe**  
Warnings: **None**  
Word Count: **850ish**  
****A/N:** ...for once, I don't actually have anything big and wordy to say. Wow. XD;; Actually, I thought of something: I am SO not an epic poet, and I'm sure any and all classicists out there weep for what I've done to mythology. I'm just following Squeenix's example, yo--shameless pillaging of imagery. ^^;;; Written for areyougame on insanejournal**  
Prompt:** Angeal/Genesis: Wings – This was the first time he saw them.**  
Summary: **_One was divine, chosen of the gods; one was an abomination, made not by the hands of gods_**.  
**--

Genesis was reciting.

It was for one of their classes; the teacher insisted they be able to recite parts of the ancient classics they studied. Angeal thought it boring and did his best to forget once class was done, but Genesis loved being able to draw out long passages from the books he devoured, reciting them as he followed, eyes half lidded, the string of ancient words in his memory.

_"And Gryps was the blesséd, goddess-guardian,__  
Black of wing and flame of claw__  
It was he that was the most hated  
By Chímaira, the befoul'd, goddess-cursed,  
White of wing and iron of claw;  
For 'though alike in lion-form and wingéd shape  
One was the divine, chosen of the gods,  
One was an abomination, made not by the hands of gods;  
Maker instead_--"

Angeal made a face as he did their science homework and tried not to listen, even though he knew he was going to have to memorize it himself. He really hated the old tale of Gryps and Chímaira--in no small part because Chímaira had scared him silly as a small child. The first time he had read the stories--he was probably six, maybe seven, Genesis had had a book of old tales for children, with drawings of the monsters and the heroes who slew them--he had been terrified and had had nightmares for weeks. Genesis had loved the old tales and how the gods would intervene for their heroes and raise them up as demi-gods; Angeal had always ended up in tears, upset at all the people dying and especially the stories about Chímaira. It was a monster, cobbled together from other animals until it was something terrible. Even its tail was a thing of horror to him, like a scorpion and full of poison. Chímaira was a monster and all he wanted was to destroy the world. That had horrified him and made part of him hurt at the same time, because it had to be terrible, only wanting to destroy everything and angry because you were _wrong_.

When his mother, all those years ago, had dragged out of him one night when he woke up crying and screaming what was causing his nightmares, she'd hugged him and said not to worry, he was safe from strange Mideelian monsters. He'd asked her if Chímaira was real, if people really had magically taken bits of one animal and cobbled them onto others. He had sniffled before she could answer and said he hoped not, it would be terrible.

"Why would it be terrible?" she asked, and he didn't understand her frown. "Maybe they wanted to make something wonderful or _better_."

"It made the animals into a _monster_," Angeal said, trying to explain. She hadn't known who or what Chímaira was, until he tearfully told her--she was from Midgar, somewhere far away, and had never heard the old Mideelian stories that _everyone_ knew in Banora, so it made sense to Angeal that maybe she didn't know why it was _bad_. "And monsters only hurt people! I would never want to hurt people!"

His mother had hugged him, extra tight, and said in a strained voice that he was a good boy and could never be a monster, then stroked his hair until he fell asleep.

--

Genesis was glaring.

He stood, his head high and arms crossed, as if daring Angeal to say anything, not looking away.

"Sweet Shiva," Angeal let out faintly, blood draining from his face. There really wasn't much else he could say. Not to _wings_.

"_And Gryps was the blesséd, goddess-guardian,  
Black of wing and flame of claw..._" Genesis said, quoting not _Loveless_ but _The Gryphias_, and then he began to _laugh._

He smiled, a wide smile almost like a child's, and his eyes were bright. "I'm _close,_ Angeal. I'm so _close_. This is proof!" he said, and he sounded almost mad as he gestured at the black wing and laughed again.

Perhaps he was mad, Angeal thought sickly, mad with the _theia mania_. It wouldn't be the first time the gods had done such a thing to their 'chosen,' and often it took madness to walk, or to stay on, the path that a god had ordained.

--

Genesis was whispering.

He was standing in the doorway to the room in the abandoned building he'd been hiding in, staring at Angeal, while Angeal stared at his own wing, shaking. Pure white, the white of a curse, and all he could think was _monster_.

"..._White of wing and iron of claw;  
For 'though alike in lion-form and wingéd shape  
One was the divine, chosen of the gods,  
One was an abomina_--" Genesis was whispering, before his jaw snapped shut.

Angeal balled his hands into fist and drew a shuddering, horrified breath then took off; an instinct had hadn't known before guiding him out, into the air, _away_. If Genesis was Gryps...then he was Chímaira. And he finally understood why Chímaira had always scared him so, and yet why he had cried for the monster. Even as a child, he had somehow _known_.

And what else could Chímaira, goddess-cursed and white of wing, do but destroy the world?

--


End file.
